Afterlife? No: Aftershock!
by Lady Whight
Summary: What if Boromir wasn't granted a peaceful afterlife? What if the powers that be decided he had to learn kindness and get rid of some of his pride first? Not anti-Boromir
1. Chapter 1 A Lesson?

Afterlife? No: -Aftershock!  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
  
  
The pain was nearly killing him. Stop. Wait a minute: It was not nearly killing him. It was actually killing him. The wounds that hurt him so were deadly. How could he have forgotten? Only a moment ago, he'd said his goodbye to Aragorn, then, for a blessed short while, pain had eluded him.  
  
Now it was back. Pain: Sharp, tearing through his body, impossible to ignore. How he wished he'd loose consciousness again! But he just couldn't.  
  
Then he heard the voices.  
  
  
  
"Hey, it would be fun!" the voice was excited.  
  
"And he deserves it, too." Another voice, this one was thoughtful.  
  
"No harm in trying, I bet we'll have a great time watching!" That was the first voice again.  
  
"And he might benefit also. Let's see if living in a time where titles are nearly worthless and swordplay is of no use may help him change to the better."  
  
"Yippee! I thought you'd agree, but now I've actually heard you say so.!" The voice took on an ecstatic note.  
  
  
  
It was then that he abruptly lost consciousness again, or maybe it was taken from him.  
  
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So: What do you think of my opening chapter? Should I carry on? Did it tickle your curiosity? Tell me! 


	2. Chapter 2 The Danger Is Over

Whew! 5 reviews in less than 24 hours! I guess I'll go on writing, then. (  
  
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Afterlife? No: -Aftershock!  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Two  
  
  
  
He came to again with a funny feeling in his body. he felt numb and very alert at the same time. He had the feeling he was floating, while he distinctly sensed hard ground beneath his body. His mind was behaving queerly too: It took up all the sensations coming his way, but didn't in the least react to them.  
  
He was cold, yet his mind didn't seem to feel like telling his arms to wrap his cloak nearer to his body. Aggravated, he tried to pull himself together; No son of Gondor let himself go like this!  
  
He actually managed to move his hand upwards to his shoulder, when something stopped him. Some light, yet strong cloth was wound round his wrist and held his hand back. Angrily, he jerked his hand upward, to no avail.  
  
Not bent on giving up, he tugged again. It was then, that a hand wrapped itself round his lower arm and he realised that he wasn't alone.  
  
The contact alerted his senses and his reactions to their full extent and he was able to move quickly again.  
  
With a snap, he opened his eyes and pulled hard at the cloth holding his left hand, to wipe the hand off his arm. He had expected to see the face of a man or an elf, maybe even a dwarf or .., yes, a hobbit. If none of these, it would have to be the face of an orc, he thought, but what he saw seemed to fit into none of these races.  
  
He was nearly as small as a dwarf, but had the long slim fingers of an elf. His face was round and jolly as a hobbits, but his eyes were alarmingly similar to Gandalf's. He wore clothes the colour of the sky in high summer and held an iron made device in his hand, as if it were reading it like a book.  
  
The man, for Boromir looked at him as being a man, had jerked back in alarm at the sudden movement of his patient, but his face broke into a smile only shortly afterwards.  
  
"Calm down, the danger is over."  
  
Boromir actually relaxed, a bit. "No, my dear friend, the shadow is ever rising." He answered heavily. "But I thank you for the short respite under your roof while I lay wounded. Be assured, that Boromir, son of Denethor, Lord of the Tower of Guard, never forgets to repay a debt."  
  
The man only looked puzzled. "I beg your pardon? I know you were wearing some queer clothes when you were brought here and I suppose you are part of some show or other, but don't you think you are exaggerating a bit, playing your part even in sickbed?"  
  
Now it was Boromir's turn to be puzzled. then he paled.  
  
*** "And he might benefit also. Let's see if living in a time where titles are nearly worthless and swordplay is of no use may help him change to the better."  
  
"Yippee! I thought you'd agree, but now I've actually heard you say so.!" ***  
  
He distinctly remembered the glee in the second voice. Could it be true? Had he really been transported into another spot in time? Or was his mind just playing tricks on him?  
  
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I know, I haven't told you much, but hey, what's the fun in just telling? That would seriously blight the suspense! Don't forget to review! I love feedback! 


	3. Chapter 3 Cooper

@shadow975: My answer got so long, I sent it to you by e-mail. Hope it will be satisfactory, if not, tell me!  
  
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Afterlife? No: -Aftershock!  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Three  
  
  
  
The man in light blue clothes was looking curiously at him. "Are you feeling well?"  
  
Boromir decided that his story was too hair brained to tell. How could it be that he had been brought from the forest of Amon Hen into this white room? This room that was flooded by light brighter than the sun and with all kinds of strange iron devices inside it.  
  
Nobody would believe him such a story. So he didn't say anything and changed the subject.  
  
"No, my friend, I am all right. Tell me, what is Your name?"  
  
"Oh, excuse me, I must have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Reginald Cooper. I work here." The man answered his question hastily, holding out a hand for Boromir to shake.  
  
Reginald Cooper's hand was just near enough for Boromir to take it and give it a shake. Yet the movement of course brought his attention back to the way he'd been tied up.  
  
"Why am I tied to my bed?" he asked straight out. He'd always been one to be direct and wasn't about to alter his ways.  
  
"Ah, yes, that is a good question. I think you identified yourself a bit too much with the role you are no doubt playing at some theatre. With your clothes and sword and all."  
  
Anxiously sitting up, Boromir interrupted him. "Where is my horn?"  
  
"There was no horn. Dear man, you really are overreacting, but let me get on with my explanation: We took those arrows from your body," Reginald Cooper shuddered, he didn't want to know just how those ugly missiles had come to rest in Boromir's body, "and let you sleep, while your body regenerated.  
  
"In your sleep you began to thrash around and scream something about auks, or orks, or something like that. You were a danger to yourself and disturbed the other patients, so we put you into this room and tied you to the bed, so you wouldn't hurt yourself."  
  
So he hadn't fully gotten over the defeat at Amon Hen yet, although he'd thought he had. Boromir realised. His wounded body had weakened him so much, that all the barriers in his mind had gone down and his true feelings had been revealed during his sleep.  
  
Remembering his own fierceness, as he'd resolved to protect the two hobbits to his death, he could well imagine that his dreams had been fierce as well. Now, however, he was awake. There was no point in keeping him tied to his bed.  
  
"My dreams have ended. You can take away the ties." He informed Reginald.  
  
"That I will. I could then show you around the building, if you like."  
  
It would be good to learn as much as he could of this place and with someone to explain all he saw to him, he might get a grip an his new surroundings. Gratefully, Boromir nodded.  
  
"I would like that very much."  
  
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That's it. I won't post for a few days now. I'd like to know if you've got suggestions about the society Boromir will live in from now on. It will be difficult to adapt the story later on, so it'd be great to hear of your suggestions now.  
  
And if you don't feel like suggesting anything, you still can review. ( 


	4. Chapter 4 Identity Crisis

Well, you don't want to have a say? Then you'll just have to bear with me and my twisted imagination!  
  
  
  
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Afterlife? No: -Aftershock!  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Four  
  
  
  
Now that his hands were freed from the bed, Boromir could stand up and look down at himself. He got uncomfortable, when he realised that he didn't wear his own clothes but some sort of long white shirt and also was stripped of all of his weapons.  
  
He frowned. "Reginald Cooper, I cannot seem to find my belongings. I would be pleased to have them back again."  
  
Reginald Cooper seemed a bit taken aback. "Surely you don't want that sword! Such things can be dangerous, you know!"  
  
Boromirs' expression grew grim. "Only in the hands of such who cannot wield it."  
  
Cooper looked at him strangely. "You know, when you speak like that, I wonder if it was a good idea to cut you loose. I really think that you should try to distance yourself from that role you are undoubtedly rehearsing for. I wouldn't like you to get into an identity crisis."  
  
Cooper was right in some way. Boromir was having the beginnings of some identity crisis.  
  
Was he really Boromir, son of Denethor, brother of Faramir? Or was he some lunatic?  
  
If he wasn't Boromir, why did he think he was?  
  
And if he was Boromir, then what had happened to him? Who exactly had caused him arrive in his new surroundings? Was it possible for him to return to Middle Earth?  
  
Whoever he was, he had to make sure this man Reginald Cooper didn't find out that he thought he was the WARRIOR Boromir. It seemed, that being a warrior was rated as a state of mental instability in this place.  
  
"Forget about your various weapons for a while, will you?" Cooper was now saying. "Follow me outside, instead. I'll show you the other rooms."  
  
They went through a white door into a white corridor full of people in light blue clothing or in white shirts similar to the one Boromir wore.  
  
There was a lot of bustling about and there seemed to be a queer kind of bird about, that peeped every now and then in a very insistent way. Boromir turned, when one of these birds peeped on his left, where Cooper was walking.  
  
Astonished, he saw Cooper lift a small black and square device to his eyes. "Ah, bad, bad." He heard the man mutter. The bird inside the black cage must have given him some disquieting information.  
  
Cooper turned to Boromir. "I'm sorry, Boromir, I have to go now. We've got an emergency. Go over to the waiting room over there, please. I'll be back in half an hour or so."  
  
Then he hurried off at great speed, leaving Boromir to himself.  
  
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And don't forget to review! I'm addicted to reviews! I can't live without them! 


	5. Chapter 5 'Lady' Sandy

Here's your next dose of Afterlife. Thanks to all the reviewers, you really keep me going!!  
  
A/N: It's not really our time and it isn't in a city that exists, simply because I actually don't know what these are like. I never was in any REALLY big city myself, you know.  
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Afterlife? No: -Aftershock!  
Chapter Five  
Boromir didn't think of going to the room, Cooper had called the "Waiting Room". He much rather wanted to see what the outside of this building looked like. He stepped to a nearby window, which had just as little decoration as everything else.  
  
The whole building seemed to have been constructed with the idea that it should be as unassuming and bare as possible! The view that met him now, shocked him more than anything:  
  
Looking down, he saw that the building was about as high as the highest tower in Minas Tirith. Far, far below, he saw streets, and nearby stood a building as high as the one he was in, and a bit further away another, and even further away, another!  
  
The house was one great number of towering buildings, as he had never seen before. And in between them ran the streets.  
  
The streets, however, weren't restricted to the ground. There were vehicles flying through the air as if they were on the ground. There was one of those airstreets right on the height of his window. Boromir watched, fascinated, as one, two, three, a score of the vehicles zoomed passed him, blinking in the sunlight.  
  
"What IS this place?" He murmured to himself.  
  
"Bearon, what a silly question!" The voice of a child said from his elbow.  
  
Boromir looked down into the face of the girl beside him. "Why silly?"  
  
"Everyone knows Bearon!" The expression on the girl's face turned curious. "Why don't you know?"  
  
Boromir shrugged. He pointed to the flying vehicles. "And what are those?"  
  
Now the girl grinned cheekily. "You ARE silly. They're airscooters, of course!"  
  
Boromir scowled, at the girl calling him silly and she shrank back a bit, clearly intimidated by his mean demeanour. Yet, she answered him, when he asked, "How do they fly?"  
  
Shrugging, she said: "Don't know. But my Da would know, he constructs them. What do you do?"  
  
"I'm the son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor." Boromir replied, automatically.  
  
The girl stared at him, open-mouthed. "You're from the "instable"-section, aren't you?"  
  
Puzzled, Boromir replied her stare of interest, mingled with a small portion of fear. "I am not of that "section"." He told her firmly. "I was brought here after I was pierced by arrows. Now I am healed and will leave this place as soon as I retrieve my clothes. -And my sword."  
  
The girl's mouth remained open. "What on earth do you need a sword for?"  
  
"To defend my city and my people from the shadow of the East." Boromir answered, the truth of his words so strong, that the girl shuddered involuntarily.  
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do you like it?? eh? eh? .... 


	6. Chapter 6 Foster

And here's the next chapter already!! Ain't I fast?? *G*  
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Afterlife? No: -Aftershock!  
Chapter Six  
"You are really off the rocker!" She whispered. "There's no Gondor, and no Steward and most certainly no shadow in the East, here!"  
  
Boromir saw her fright and relaxed his posture. "Do not fear, young Lady, no harm will come to you, if I have a say in it!"  
  
She was already giggling again. "Nobody but my Da ever called me Lady before! Only he was joking. You are joking, too, aren't you?"  
  
Boromir knew, that he had already told her too much and pushed back all his questions but one and smiled. "Would you be so kind as telling me your name, young Lady?"  
  
He bowed, and made her giggle once more. "I'm Sandy Foster. And you?"  
  
"Boromir, son of Denethor."  
  
"Oh, come on, I know you're lying! No one has such queer names!"  
  
Boromir sighed. "I AM Boromir."  
  
"And? What's your last name?"  
  
Boromir thought quickly. Finally, he said. "Call me Boromir Steward, Sandy Foster."  
  
"Great!"  
  
They were interrupted by a man in dark clothes. "There you are, Sandy! I was looking all over the place for you. Why didn't you stay in the Waiting room?"  
  
Sandy made a face. "It's boring. I talked to Mr. Steward, instead. He calls me young Lady, isn't that funny?"  
  
Sandy's father eyed Boromir rather suspiciously, but then seemed to decide that he was harmless enough.  
  
"How do you do? I am Sandy's father, Foster's my name." He said, stretching out his hand.  
  
Boromir took the proffered hand and answered haltingly, not very familiar with this polite phrase of greeting.  
  
"I am well. How are you doing?"  
  
"Great. And you? Will you be able to leave the hospital soon?"  
  
"Yes. My doctor said I was doing well."  
  
Here Sandy pushed into the conversation again. "He told me he had arrow- wounds, Daddy!"  
  
"Really? How queer!" Her father answered, clearly humouring his daughter.  
  
"But he said so, tell him that I'm telling the truth, Mr. Steward!" Sandy cried, knowing exactly what her father was doing.  
  
"I was, in fact, hit by a few arrows," said Boromir, talking matter-of- factly.  
  
Mr. Foster started. "How?"  
  
Boromir hesitated. Only a short while ago, he'd have told the man exactly what had happened. But both Doctor cooper's and Sandy's reaction had warned him that arrow wounds and swords and Gondor were things nobody in this place knew anything about.  
  
He opened his mouth to tell a tale he was sure wouldn't convince anybody, when he was saved by Reginald Cooper.  
  
"Ah, here you are. Making acquaintances already, I see!" Then Cooper turned to Mr. Foster. "How do you do? I'm Dr. Cooper."  
  
Foster shook hands with him and answered politely, before introducing Sandy. Boromir was happy to be forgotten for a few moments, so that he could gather his wits.  
  
He was not forgotten for long, however, certainly not by Sandy. She tugged at his shirt.  
  
"Tell me how you were hit by arrows!" She begged.  
  
Grinning, he lifted her up to sit on the windowsill. Here was at least somebody he could tell the truth. He'd have to make up a story for the adults soon enough!  
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I like reviews, I like reviews, I need reviews, I need reviews, I thrive on them, I live on them, so please. PLEASE write one!! 


	7. Chapter 7 Gully Rats

Afterlife? No: -Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Six  
  
"Ooooh!" Sandy was clearly delighted by Boromir's story. "And did you really bash that Orc in the head? What did he say?"  
  
Boromir smiled grimly. "He said no more." Boromir was in fact slightly amused at Sandy's enthusiasm when listening to his description of the battle of Amon Hen and he thanked her for it with vivid descriptions.  
  
Sandy's grin widened. "They had no chance, had they?" She asked eagerly.  
  
Boromir's face fell. "Alas, they had archers who could wound me from afar."  
  
"But that's unfair!" Sandy protested.  
  
"That may be so, but that didn't hinder the Orcs from using their bows. I was hit by several arrows and suffered considerable injuries."  
  
"But you saved the Hobbits, didn't you?" Sandy asked on.  
  
"I at least held back the Orcs long enough that Aragorn and the other companions may have a chance of saving them." Boromir slumped slightly. "That is what I hope." He added very quietly.  
  
Sandy watched him without saying anything for a while, then she tried to cheer him up. "I bet you did, Mr Steward, you bashed up so many of them, that the Hobbits might even have managed to free themselves without any help."  
  
Boromir gave her a grin. "You have great confidence in me, young Lady. May I ask you why?"  
  
"Because you talk like those heroes you can read about in books. I'm sure you could kill everyone in this city, if you wanted, even the muscles of the "Gully Rats"!"  
  
""Gully Rats"? "Muscles"?" Boromir asked, confused.  
  
"The "Gully Rats" are the gang that control my end of town. You HAVE to know them."  
  
"I am sorry, Lady Sandy, with all the Orc-fighting, I had no time to think of the "Gully Rats"..." Boromir apologized, self-irony shining through his words.  
  
The excuse seemed to be enough to appease Sandy. "Oh, all right, I can understand." She said with a faintly superior air.  
  
"The "Gully Rats" Have taken over the East Side of Bearon some time ago and they're doing their best to remind everyone of it. They do keep off of children, though. My Da says, that he thinks that's decent of them. The "Street Hounds", they were the gang who ruled the East Side earlier, didn't do so."  
  
"And what is that about their "muscles"?" Boromir asked, still rather confused.  
  
"They're those who fight and make sure everyone pays the taxes the Boss of the "Gully Rats" wants from us."  
  
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That's it for today. Tell me what you think!! Please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 


	8. Interlude Where The Voices Are Named

Afterlife? No: -Aftershock!  
  
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"He is doing well." The Deep said contentedly. "Maybe we acted rather rashly."  
  
"Wait a while longer!" The Dazzle pleaded  
  
"You are just disappointed to see that he's better than we thought." The Swirl answered mockingly.  
  
"No I'm not!" The Dazzle answered in a huff. "He'll botch it up, yet!"  
  
"Admit it: You chose the wrong mortal to have fun with!" The Swirl teased again.  
  
The Dazzle rose, aggravated. "I chose well. Just you wait!!"  
  
"Quiet!" The Deep ordered. "Stop this quarrel! I am pleased to see that the mortal you chose is doing well, Dazzle. I wish him well, and you should do so too."  
  
"You know quite well that I chose him to have some fun. It was you who wanted him to teach him a lesson."  
  
"A lesson he seems to be learning well. Let's hope he'll keep it up." The Deep said calmly.  
  
"And I bet he won't! He doesn't have the patience! He'll do something stupid yet. Did you notice the queer looks that man Cooper gave him? He thinks our little Boromir is insane!" The Dazzle laughed gleefully.  
  
The Swirl joined the Dazzle in its merriment. "You may well have a point here, Dazzle. The mortal's progress is certainly worth some attention, don't you agree, Deep?"  
  
"It is worth our attention. He may yet provide some entertainment while improving himself." The Deep replied. "Now, stop the talking. I'd like to concentrate."  
  
The Three were now quite, turning their attention back to the goings on in Bearon.  
  
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Intriguing enough?? Don't forget to tell me!! (Hint, hint: REVIEW!) 


	9. Chapter 8 The Card

Hi everybody! Welcome to the 8. Chapter of my fanfic about Boromir's Aftershock. And this time, I won't forget to post a disclaimer! (Though I really wonder if ANYBODY could mistake my story for someone else's.) So, there goes:  
  
Disclaimer: I only own the location, the plot and a few characters of this story. What doesn't belong to me, is Boromir, and anything else that relates to Middle Earth and Tolkien's work. All I do, is use my imagination, taking advantage of the wonderful universe Tolkien created. My story cannot, by any means, compare to Tolkien's work, but I can't stop myself writing, anyway.  
  
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Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Eight  
  
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Boromir and Sandy were joined by Mr. Foster and Dr. Cooper. Mr Foster smiled over to Boromir.  
  
"Thank You for looking after my daughter while I was talking to Dr. Cooper." He said, lifting Sandy back down from the window-sill. "I've never seen her sit so quietly for such a long time before. You must be a gifted storyteller!"  
  
Sandy protested: "He didn't tell me stories! He told me what happened to him, so he got arrow wounds!"  
  
"Sure he did." Her father answered, clearly not believing her. "What happened?"  
  
"He battled against a Company of Orcs, all of them with a white mark that looked like a hand on their faces. One of them shot at him with his bows and arrows!" Sandy recounted the tale animatedly.  
  
"What an astounding story! Mr. Steward was very brave, wasn't he?" Her father said, again it was evident to Boromir, that the man didn't believe the story. Mr. Foster winked at him over Sandy's head and took her by the hand.  
  
His right hand he stretched out to Boromir. "It was nice to meet You, I hope you'll be able to visit us once in a while. Here's my address." He pulled out a small card from his pocket and then shook Boromir's hand firmly.  
  
Sandy's enthusiasm was not to be quenched. "I bet Mr. Steward could chase the "Gully Rats" from our part of town, couldn't he?"  
  
"Now, now," Mr. Foster said, trying to calm her down, "I doubt he'd want to cross those thugs and anyway, I bet Mr. Steward hasn't recovered from his injuries, yet."  
  
"The "Gully Rats" are nothing in comparison to those orcs!!" Sandy cried. Then she turned to Boromir. "Mr. Steward! Tell him I'm right!"  
  
"I don't know the "Gully Rats" well enough to be able to say anything to that." Boromir answered evasively.  
  
"Then come and visit us! You'll see I'm right!" Sandy replied brightly and grinned. "Come and visit us as soon as possible!"  
  
"Yes, come and visit us." Mr. Foster joined in. "It will be nice to see You again. But for now, we have to say Goodbye."  
  
Father and daughter took their leave and so Dr. Cooper and Boromir were left to each other's company.  
  
"How much longer do I need to stay here?" Boromir asked. At the same time he wondered what he'd do if he was allowed to leave. He didn't know the least about this New World he'd been transported to.  
  
Immediately he had the feeling that he'd feel much better with his sword at his side. At least he knew how to use THAT. "Where is my sword, I require it." He told Dr. Cooper.  
  
Cooper looked slightly taken aback. "I thought we'd discussed this before! We are keeping Your sword in our safe. It would only be a danger for You and everyone else around, if You had it with You in Your room."  
  
His eyes took on a slightly suspicious look. "Anyway: Why would you require it? You are NOT a warrior of olden times. You are a man of our modern times!"  
  
Boromir wondered how Dr. Cooper explained all those scars he'd undoubtedly seen on Boromir's body during his treatment and shrugged inwardly. The man seemed determined to ignore the facts. On the other hand, it was better to play along, or he'd actually end in a ward reserved for the insane.  
  
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	10. Chapter 9 No Documents

Hi everybody! I think I'll leave the disclaimer from now on. once is enough. If you are interested and want to read my disclaimer, you can do so in the my previous post.  
  
lothlorien leaf: Thanks, I have this spleen for capital letters from my native language (German).  
  
Heartsings/Verve/Anielith-chan/Erika palad: Thanks for your many reviews!  
  
Artemis: Thanks, thanks thanks! Yes, the story-line is near to what you suspect. With some small differences, however. *grin* PS: Love your stories!!  
  
shadow975: Glad you took another look at my fic. thanks for the review!  
  
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Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Nine  
  
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Dr. Cooper made sure, that there was always someone near Boromir. The discussion earlier this day seemed to have convinced him, that Boromir was slightly instable mentally. So there always was some nurse or other near Boromir, observing his every move.  
  
Boromir was getting slightly annoyed by this behaviour and said so. "Dr. Cooper, why am I constantly observed by you and your people? Have I done something wrong? Do you think that I will turn into a raving madman at any moment?" He stormed.  
  
Dr. Cooper looked at him guardedly and tried to calm him down. "Not at all, Mr. Steward. I think nothing of the sort. We fear, however, that you have not completely recovered from your injuries yet."  
  
"I am well. In fact, I am well enough to leave. Look: I can move about effortlessly." Boromir turned this way and that, to show he told the truth.  
  
"This may well be the case. But we think that you still have symptoms of a heavy trauma. Please try and cooperate, we are doing our best."  
  
At that moment, a troubled-looking nurse waved Dr. Cooper to her desk. In her hand she held some queer device. Boromir watched how she wrote something with it and realised that it was some kind of quill, although he could think of no bird that had such bizarre feathers.  
  
He saw the nurse and Dr. Cooper talk together, now and then throwing a furtive glance into his direction. Then Dr. Cooper put on a resolute face and walked back to Boromir.  
  
"We have just found out, that you do not legally exist. There are no documents whatsoever in your name and there are no pictures of you in any archives. Tell me, how that can be!"  
  
Boromir didn't understand what exactly Dr. Cooper was saying, but he grasped, that everyone in this world was registered and had picture made of himself. How else could it be so extraordinary for the people here, that he had nothing of the sort?  
  
"I am not from this world." He answered, convinced that the lacking documents were proof enough, that his story was genuine.  
  
Dr. Cooper sighed and waved two nurses to him. "Please walk Mr. Steward back to his room. It is not safe for him to remain here." To Boromir, he said: "And I suppose you expect me to believe you? I don't, Mr. Steward. I suggest you tell the truth when the police comes. In the meantime, I'd like you to stay in your room."  
  
Boromir had looked out of the window and knew that it was impossible to flee this building. He might have gotten away from the three people accompanying him to his room, but during his flight down hundreds of stairs out of this building, someone would surely have caught him.  
  
So kept quiet and fell in step with the two nurses who stayed on either side of him. Dr. Cooper was there too, walking just behind him.  
  
Boromir sighed inwardly. How was he to get out of this mess? The people here were obviously not inclined to believe his story that he was from another world. Even when all the evidence spoke for his tale.  
  
He shook his head slightly and did not protest until Dr. Cooper wanted him to swallow some white, round thing he called medicine.  
  
"I will not take this." Boromir stated firmly. "I promise to stay quietly in here, till you have decided what you will do. I won't eat this, however."  
  
Dr. Cooper seemed to contemplate and finally decided to leave it at that. "Agreed. I must warn you, however, if you start acting strung up and begin to fantasize, we will have to inject a tranquilizer."  
  
Boromir nodded. "I understand." He didn't understand, but he got the gist of it. -Better stay quiet, or we'll make you stay quiet.- That was what Dr. Cooper had said.  
  
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REVIEW!!! 


	11. Chapter 10 Grimes And Wirrell

Hi everybody! Welcome to the 11th instalment of this fic. read how Boromir braves the dangers of a futuristic world!! *grin* Do not fear, however: He's absolutely capable of managing anything I throw into his way!  
  
Technetium: We'll see. And thanks for the review!  
  
roadkill-writer: Well, you know, I think it's bad for him that he is in a strange and different world, but missing documents, of which he doesn't even exactly know what they are, won't disturb him much. That's what I think, anyway.  
  
Artemis: I know. It's just I like to keep things short and to the point.  
  
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Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Ten  
  
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Boromir was true to his word. He kept quiet. All he did was pace around the room, while he tried to sort out this mess he'd been unwillingly thrown into. First, he checked his resources:  
  
they were meagre. No sword, no gold, no horse, he didn't even have a knife. One positive thing was his health. He had recovered quite well from his injuries and his brain seemed to be functioning alright. Except, perhaps, that he was fantasizing about this new world, but that was a thought he didn't want to pursue.  
  
He was not insane! He knew who he was: He was Bormir, son of Denethor, the steward of Gondor. He had a brother called Faramir, before he had been transported into this world he had been on a quest to save Gondor.  
  
Now, what did he know of this world? He was in a town called Bearon. The buildings here were even higher thatn those of Minas Tirith, and the people travelled around it in flying vehicles. Boromir shook his head dazedly. Flying vehicles!!  
  
Then he also remembered what Sandy had told him. There were powerful street gangs in Bearon, who ruled the city. There were street gangs in Minas Tirith, too, but they didn't have much power. Here it was different. Those so-called "Gully Rats" were an authority.  
  
And there was also the fact, that the people here were slightly different from all of Middle Earth. Dr. Cooper, particularly, had something of all of Middle Earth's races in him. Boromir shook his head, as if that would help him to get rid of all these questions. Of course, this was to no avail.  
  
However, he had to concentrate on something else, first. How could he convince the people here, that he was not insane and could be let out of this ward? And how could he explain the lack of any documents concerning himself?  
  
Dejectedly, Boromir seated himself on the bed and buried his face in his hands. What now?  
  
He snapped out of this mood, when suddenly the door burst open and two men in black and red uniforms entered the room. Behind them came Dr. Cooper, looking worried.  
  
"What is the matter?" Boromir asked.  
  
Dr. Cooper looked at him curiously. "We checked up all theatre groups of the city. Not one has a person of your name or with your description employed. None of them owns the sword you had with you, nor the clothes you wore. After that, we checked the weapon dealers. None of them sold this weapon. Very curious indeed!"  
  
"The sword was always passed on in our family." Boromir told him truthfully. "I have it from my father."  
  
"That still leaves the question of who you really are and why you got hit by arrows while holding it in your hands." One of the uniformed men said. "And this, by the way, is George Wirrell and I'm Sean Grimes."  
  
It was then, that an idea dawned on Boromir. "It's a new method." He said, groping for words. It was difficult to make this sound as if he really had knowledge of this world. "The "Gully Rats" think it's very interesting."  
  
The faces of the two men darkened. "The "Gully Rats"!" Wirrell exclaimed. "Why did they injure you?"  
  
Sandy had told him, how ruthless the "Gully Rats" were, so Boromir said the first small offence he could think of. "I refused to go out of their way."  
  
The three men facing him looked at him, disbelievingly. "You refused to.? You're insane!" Dr. Cooper cried. "No wonder they nearly killed you! Hasn't anyone ever told you that one never, NEVER stands in a gang's way?"  
  
"You acted foolishly." Grimes agreed. "You can only do such things if a few policemen are around to help you. Which obviously wasn't the case when you did it."  
  
"And obviously the "Gully Rats" went even further. Since they got this hacker to work for them, they like to erase citizens like you from our logs."  
  
Hacker? What kind of logs? Boromir wondered, but showed none of his puzzlement. Somehow, his mentioning the "Gully Rats" had saved him from being put into the ward of the insane. He had no intention of making Dr. Cooper change his mind again.  
  
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So, what do you think? Realistic enough? Or did he get away to easily? I'm looking forward to opinions! See y'all!! 


	12. Chapter 11 The, err, Cabin

Hi everybody! Well, after some days without an internet connection and then with ff.net absolutely NOT working, here I am with the next chapter. Hope it's worth the wait! *grin* Boromir in the world of jolting and "PLINGING!" cabins. oho!  
  
Artemis: Glad you say my story has that feel, I wanted it to. Guess how satisfying it is, when I get told it's got the feel.  
  
velda: Thanks!!  
  
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Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Eleven  
  
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"Are there any relatives of yours that need to be informed about your whereabouts? if so, it would be high time you called them. Dr. Cooper here told us that you didn't have the possibility to phone yet." Grimes asked, while they trooped out of the room.  
  
"Er.. no, no, not at all." Boromir stammered. "I will .call them later." Queer: 'Call' someone? 'Phone'? What did that mean?  
  
"Oh, okay, but you could use the phone over there, you know, and I bet your relatives are concerned about what has happened to you."  
  
Grimes pointed to a funny object standing on one of the high desks on the other side of the room. So, this was a 'phone'. And you obviously 'phoned' with it. That didn't help Boromir at all. Sighing inwardly, he answered. "No thank you. I'll just make sure I'll go straight back home as soon as I'm able to leave from here."  
  
Dr. Cooper smiled. "And that will be soon. You'll just have to sign these papers here and the things Mr. Grimes and Mr. Wirrell want you to sign, and then you are free to go wherever you like."  
  
Boromir nodded, relief flooding him. At last! He had been inside this building too long. The white of the walls irritated him and the lights were strange and much too bright. He tried to make head or tail of the forms he had to sign, failed and put his signature on them anyway.  
  
He nearly made the mistake and signed "Boromir, son of.", but corrected himself before it got obvious. He answered some questions and then was let off the hook.  
  
"We'll accompany you downstairs as soon as you have retrieved your belongings." Mr. Wirrell said. "We're leaving the hospital as well."  
  
Boromir thanked the policemen and followed a nurse who led him to a room stacked with the queerest objects. His sword and his clothes looked very out of place between the white linen, the glinting metal trolleys, the rows and rows of glass vials and green cloaks.  
  
Hurriedly, Boromir took his stuff and went into a tiny cabin where he was supposed to change clothes. He did so with great difficulty. Never before had he had to dress in such a confined place!  
  
Finally, he was back with the policemen who had waited patiently for him at the place he'd left them and together, they walked to a set of metal doors. The two policemen were rather interested in Boromir's sword and inspected it excitedly. When they arrived at the metal doors, Wirrell pressed a shining button next to one of them, and at once a red light shaped like an arrow lighted up. they waited.  
  
Suddenly, with a loud "Pling!", that made Boromir nearly jump out of skin, the doors slid opend to the sides and the three men looked into a cabin already occupied by a nurse and a middle-aged couple. Wirrell and Grimes stepped into the cabin too and Boromir followed them apprehensively.  
  
He was greatly shocked when he noticed that the cabin started travelling downwards with a jolt. Seeing however, how calm the other people inside stayed, he assumed that this was normal and shut up. A row of buttons was on either side of the cabin and Boromir saw how little lights appeared alongside these buttons, getting lower and lower one at a time.  
  
Then the light stopped alongside one button and the cabin stopped with another jolt. Grimes and Wirrell stepped out of the cabin at once and Boromir followed them suit. They went through a large hall full of people and came to a set of glass doors. Outside, it was raining.  
  
"Damn weather!" Grimes muttered. "One minute it's sunny, the other it's raining like I don't know what! We'll have to run to our hovercar."  
  
"Right you are." Wirrell answered glumly, then he turned to Boromir. "I'm sorry we can't give you a lift, but we've only got two seats, so we can't. We'll leave you here, then. Good Bye, Mr. Steward, and don't forget to go to the police headquarters within the next two days. There you will be logged again."  
  
Boromir nodded and they shook hands. After Grimes had said goodbye too, the policemen ran off into the rain and left Boromir to himself. 


	13. Chapter 12 Musings

Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Twelve  
  
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Boromir didn't step outside into the rain at once. First he wanted to take a good look at this queer world from the relative safety of the hospital. He immediately conceded that the glass doors were very practical for this purpose. Apart from being crafted with great skill, for they showed no flaws or irregularities as the few glass windows Boromir had seen in before his life had done.  
  
Outside, the people were hurrying along the pavement that seemed to consist of melted grey stone. Some of them had queer, but very practical constructs they held over their heads, so the rain didn't reach them. The things looked like tarpaulin cloth stretched over a cone-shaped iron frame.  
  
Nobody wore armour or weapons Boromir could see, there were no horses the houses were mostly made of glass, and higher, much higher than those in his home time. And in between the houses, on various levels, those glittery vehicles zoomed on, in straight lines, that from below looked like invisible roads.  
  
It was these flying vehicles that bothered Boromir most. It wasn't the fact that they were fast, it wasn't the fact that they were made of metal, it was the fact that they were FLYING! What magic held them there? Or had it something to do with the natural laws of this world? There were hundreds of the flying-, what had Grimes called his vehicle? Oh yes: Hovercar.  
  
The name was a bit tame, Boromir thought, sure, the vehicles hovered, but they did much more, they moved at great speed. The people weren't bothered by the hovercars, he noted, so they must be safe, and anyway, why should he bother? He was a capable warrior, wasn't he?  
  
Without further ado, Boromir stepped outside, welcoming the touch of the rain as a sign that even here, on this world, weather had a will of its own. A spot of sky that was faintly brighter than rest was where the sun had to be. Knowing that his only friends here lived in the east of the city, he turned into that direction, oblivious of the stares the other pedestrians sent his way.  
  
After a while, he got used to seeing something surprising at every turn of the head. Things like a lot of women walking around in trousers, the flashing, multicoloured writings that obviously were there to catch the passer-by's attention, the amazing amount of glass windows, that showed shops full of moving pictures or huge quantities of already made clothes in all shapes and sizes.  
  
All this faded into the background, as his brain finally decided that it had processed enough new information for now. Instead, it began to try and grapple with what it already knew, but couldn't understand.  
  
Boromir was in another world. Someone had sent him here. Someone who thought he was too proud and lacked kindness. He shook his heads sadly. This just couldn't be true!  
  
Everyone who had ever seen him together with the hobbits knew that he was kind. His men back in Gondor thought him a wise and kind leader, why did those powerful beings who sent him here think he was unkind. Could it be that they had only seen him act under the influence of the ring? He had been cruel to poor Frodo then, pressuring the hobbit first with words and then with deeds.  
  
Was he proud? Yes, but not overly so. He certainly was self-confident; he knew his worth as a warrior and leader of men. As a son of the Steward of the city, he had profited of a good education and he was aware of that. More than being proud of himself, however, he had always been proud of others.  
  
He was proud of his people, of his soldiers and of his city. He was proud of his family, all of whom were in some way working for the welfare of their people, yes, he was proud to be part of all of them, to being born in a country with a great past, that played a vital part in the present.  
  
It was then that he nearly lost his grip on himself. He no longer would take any part in that present and all those people he was so proud of, were no more with him. He no longer walked, but stood as still as a statue in the middle of the pavement. Distantly, he was aware of people bumping into him and cursing at him or mumbling apologies, depending on their politeness.  
  
He'd have liked to just sit down and just let all the misery wash over him, let all his confusion and bewilderment take over and make him helpless. He was tempted to let the craziness of his situation get at him, till he himself got crazy, but he did none of it.  
  
Training as a soldier and Captain of Gondor had prepared him for times like this, when all he had was hope and his brains. He had learned to keep his wits about him, not to panic, but to think his way out of his problems step by step. Now, that training took over.  
  
Mechanically, he began to walk again, slowly, deliberately, towards the east, where he knew he had friends who would help him. Superfluous thoughts were not allowed to stay in the foreground and pushed back. Logic took over.  
  
What did he have? His sword, some gold coins, whose value in this world he didn't know, two daggers, his clothes and his gold chain. He had no money of this place's currency and he didn't know the currency. He had no horse, but nobody seemed to have horses here. He knew not what rules and laws existed for this place, but that paperwork seemed to be very important for the agencies. He had only few friends, one of was a child, a young girl, who was also the only one who knew his story and whom he could trust to know. 


	14. Chapter 13 Malcolm

Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Thirteen  
  
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The rain still poured steadily and had a soothing effect on Boromir, while he began brooding about how he could survive in this world, where, judging on the people's appearances, there was no need of warriors. Looking around him once more, Boromir noticed that the houses around him were less high and had less glass on them, than before.  
  
The streets were dirtier and less frequented by people. It was evening, and in the twilight shadows grew bigger in many places. There even were less hovercars in the sky above, while Boromir became aware of eyes watching him.  
  
He didn't see the eyes, nor the faces they belonged to, but he felt their stares all over him. Hunters were about, ready to get him. Hand on the pommel of his sword, Boromir walked on, now very much on the alert. Small sounds reached his ears. The swish of cloth against a wall, the scrape of a shoe against the hard ground, a suppressed cough.  
  
Here and there he could spot a movement, but nothing clear, just a shadow sliding sideways or deepening suddenly. Again there was that cough, nearer now, and still Boromir walked on, not ready to show hesitation, his watchers might interpret hesitation as fear.  
  
Five hundred yards later, one of them showed himself. The man stepped out of the shadows suddenly, right into Boromir's path. The man wore black clothes and shoes and in his hand was an ugly looking dagger. Boromir showed no surprise at the sudden appearance and stood easily opposite the man, his hand lying casually on the pommel of his sword.  
  
"Good evening!" He greeted the man, then waited.  
  
"Good evening to you, too!" The man answered silkily. "And where might you be going, so late in the night?"  
  
There was some sort of threat in the man's voice, but Boromir was not to be impressed so easily,  
  
"I am going east, Stranger, and where are you headed?"  
  
"I think I'll stay here with you a little while longer." The man answered. "If you would tell me your name? I am Malcolm."  
  
"I am Boromir."  
  
"A strange name." Malcolm said jeeringly. "You're mother must've been stoned making that one up."  
  
Sniggers filled the street. The pack liked the jokes of their leader. Boromir stayed calm. There was no point in reacting to insults he didn't understand, but he filed the word 'stoned' away to all others he didn't know.  
  
"I wouldn't know, she decided what my name should be before my birth." He answered coolly.  
  
"Smart one, are you?" Malcolm scowled. "If you're so smart, why'd you walk our streets without permission? My gang's greedy for your blood, buddy, you trespassed and they want to punish you."  
  
"Your gang? The "Gully Rats"?"  
  
"Exactly. So you know our name. Then you know what you're in for now, Borry- buddy."  
  
At Malcolm's words, his gang stepped out of the shadows. A quick count told Boromir that they were about 20 young men, all with a knife, a heavy chain, or just some sort of club in their hands that served them as a weapon.  
  
He knew this was going to be a mean fight, and a tough one at that, and he had no choice but to fight it. In a flash, he had pulled his sword and now he held it before him, ready to defend himself at the first move one of the men made on him.  
  
"So you can use the blade you have with you. Great! This will make the fight much more fun!" Malcolm grinned meanly, advancing towards Boromir together with his men.  
  
Boromir grinned back. He was ready. He had been in worse situations and survived, he knew what was coming. Maybe his wounds hadn't healed completely, but they weren't so bad that he couldn't fight.  
  
"Ready when you are." He told the man. "Who wants to be first?"  
  
A noise coming from behind warned him. At once he turned and raised his sword, just in time to parry the sweep of a dagger; he stepped sideways, avoiding a second stab, and swept his sword around in a wide circle, clearing himself some space.  
  
The "Gully Rats" knew they were fast, but they had seen how fast Boromir was, and he was DAMN fast! Nevertheless, they had the advantage of numbers and they knew the terrain. Deciding that attack was his best defence, here, Boromir struck out, quickly, wounding two men, providing one of them with a gash all along his right arm and the other with a deep cut in the side. An instant later, Boromir appeared in front of another man who was several inches taller than him and struck him unconscious with the flat of his sword.  
  
Turning sharply, he was in time to fend off two men holding heavy chains they swung at his head. Ducking, Boromir jabbed upwards with his sword and stuck his sword through one of the men's belly, then he straightened and kicked his foot out backwards, making contact with something soft.  
  
Drawing one of his daggers, Boromir threw it at his other chain-swinging opponent, so it sank into his throat. Then he turned again, swinging his sword in a wide half-circle, cutting through more than one arm. He grabbed one of the men's wrists, tugging him into his sword. With his left, he snatched the man's knife out of his grasp and immediately threw it backwards at opponents advancing from there.  
  
Five or six down, two injured, thirteen or fourteen more to come, Boromir thought to himself, ignoring the dull ache that began to emanate from his old wounds. And he hadn't been injured at all, yet. Leaping to the side, he forced his opponents to adjust and reorganise their attack, while he had time to slice one of them a wound from his left shoulder to his right hip and to strike down another one of them with a blow on the head with the flat of his sword.  
  
Two more down, twelve more to go. One of them was Malcolm, who'd insulted Boromir's mother. The "Gully Rats" were hesitating now and well they might. Nearly half of them were already down and still Boromir didn't have so much as a scratch. Malcolm turned to the man whose arm Boromir had sliced open in half a second.  
  
"Ring the HQ! Tell them, we need support! As many men as we can get!"  
  
The man nodded and fumbled at his trouser pockets with his free hand. Boromir lost no time. He flung his second dagger and it flew straight and true, right into the man's heart. Then Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor, cried his battle cry, advancing swiftly towards his remaining enemies.  
  
He never reached them. Before he was near enough to touch them, they were off, running for their lives. Panting, Boromir slowed down. It was no good idea to follow them. Undoubtedly, they were running towards their den, where more of their gang waited. Instead, he wiped the blood from his sword, sheathed it, retrieved his daggers, wiped then too and returned them to their sheaths, and then jogged off. There was no knowing if the remaining "Gully Rats" would return in even greater numbers to get revenge.  
  
As he moved on, he suddenly smiled. His musings had been wrong in one point, hadn't they? There was a need for warriors in this world. Maybe he'd fit in better than he'd thought. 


	15. Chapter 14 The Morning After

Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Fourteen  
  
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While Boromir was fighting against a group of "Gully Rats", Mr.Foster was having a difficult time trying to explain to his daughter that 'Mr. Steward' was no warrior from the legends.  
  
"Sandy, what you are saying is absolutely impossible. I admit that he fits the role he's playing at the theatre very well, but that is all. But warriors just don't exist in real life, believe me."  
  
Sandy snorted. "He isn't from here, anyway, he's from another world, where there are orcs and dwarves and elves."  
  
At this point, Mr. Foster had had enough. "Sandy, no elves, no dwarves and certainly no -orcs exist anywhere. Now stop arguing and go to sleep, school starts early tomorrow."  
  
Sandy didn't argue, but she didn't believe him either. Parents sometimes just didn't understand, that she knew. In her sleep, she dreamed of a land crowded with elves and dwarves and Boromirs, all fighting the hideous orcs. And in spite of such blood gorged dreams, she slept more peacefully than Boromir, who spent the night in some backyard, bedded on hard asphalt, of which he didn't even know the name.  
  
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The morning dawned cool and grey, the sky was a dull spread of clouds and stiff gusts of wind tore at People's clothes. Boromir didn't know that the people had already read about the street fight during the night in the newspaper. He didn't know that the police was searching for a man fitting his description.  
  
He didn't know that the only reason why the corrupted policemen of the East Side hadn't got hold of him yet was the fact, that the rest of the population here was keeping their mouth shut. Everyone who lived under the cruel heels of the "Gully Rats" only felt satisfaction at the thought that someone had beat them at their own game.  
  
Over night, Boromir had turned into their secret hero. He received smiles from many a stranger that morning, but why, he couldn't fathom. The people treated him similarly to the townspeople of Minas Tirith, as if they knew him and were at the same time aware that he couldn't know them. Puzzled, he played along, smiling and greeting the people who seemed so eager to exchange a gesture or word with him.  
  
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In their hovercar, the policemen Grimes and Wirrell discussed the latest news, too. Fully aware, that the description of the "Mad Fencer" fit the 'Mr. Steward' they'd seen the day before exactly.  
  
"So he actually does know how to use that sword." Wirrell mused. "It did strike me as odd how familiar he was with it, but I'd never have thought-"  
  
"Do you really think it was him who attacked?" Grimes blurted out, interrupting him.  
  
Wirrell laughed an unpleasant laugh. "No, but that's of minor importance, isn't it? The police down there is so corrupted, they'd say black was white if the "Gully Rats" told them to do so. Not that I blame the guys, you'd have to have a death wish to oppose that gang!"  
  
"Or a good sword." Grimes smiled. "And there we were, believing him his story that he'd been mugged by the "Gully Rats". I bet not a shred of that story was true. According to the article, he killed four, knocked out two others and injured a total of seven gang members."  
  
"Makes me glad he took a liking to us." Wirrell added. "I wonder what'd have happened if we hadn't believed his story. He might have tried to fight his way out of the hospital."  
  
"And we'd have been the first to take down. Good thing we did believe him."  
  
"Hey! Where's your sese of duty!" Wirrell chided him laughingly.  
  
"Forgot it at home this morning, anyway, it's a good thing he's loose. Maybe he'll do what so many have tried and failed to do: Get rid of the "Gully Rats"."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
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Sandy's school was abuzz with the news. All the students from first to ninth grade talked only of the "Man-who-won-a-street-fight-against-the- "GullyRats". Sandy already knew who that man was. The newspaper had in fact refrained from broadcasting Boromir's name, but the description matched him exactly.  
  
Grinning broadly, Sandy announced everywhere, that she knew the man. She told everyone of her encounter with him at the hospital, but nobody believed her. As soon as she began telling the story with the orcs, everone turned away. Angrily, she suddenly shut up. 'They haven't seen him, or they'd believe me!' She thought. 'Mr. Boromir is a warrior!'  
  
Her father, too, knew at once who the "Mad Fencer" in the newspaper article was. He had to admire the friendly man, who had been so kind to his little daughter and who only lately had received serious injuries, who had to fight against the "Gully Rats" as soon as he was outside the hospital again, and won!  
  
Although he still didn't believe the story that 'Mr. Steward' had come from another world, he did begin to believe that the man was more than the actor he had thought him to be. Just then, there was a knock at his door. Boromir had finally remembered the card Mr. Foster had given him and shown it to an elderly woman, asking her to give him directions.  
  
She at once offered to walk to Mr. Foster house with him and soon after they had arrived. Now he stood face to face with the friendly man, whose daughter had been the only one to believe his incredible story, and didn't know what to say.  
  
Mr. Foster didn't mind, however, he pulled Boromir inside, invited the old woman in, who declined, but told Mr. Foster to make sure his guest stayed inside. Then Mr. Foster shut the door, made Boromir sit into one of the chairs of the kitchen, handed him a piece of toast and chuckled.  
  
"You don't know you're in the papers, do you?" Mr. Foster. asked merrily. "The police is looking for you, the charge is murder. You're lucky they haven't found you yet."  
  
"The papers? And murder?!?" Boromir asked, staring at his host, wide-eyed.  
  
"Don't worry, the people know the police is corrupt and at the beck and call of the "Gully Rats", so they won't turn you in. But you'll have to keep a low profile, nevertheless."  
  
"A low profile?"  
  
"Yes, till grass has grown over the whole thing."  
  
Although Boromir didn't know that expression either, he understood what it meant. He would have to stay hidden till the people looking for him grew tired of it and forgot the whole affair. Then he asked the question that he'd have to ask sooner or later.  
  
"I don't have a place to stay at, at the moment, Mr. Foster. And if it wouldn't be too great an inconvenience, I'd be very grateful to you if I could stay here for a while."  
  
"It wouldn't be any inconvenience at all. I've even got a small room you could have for yourself. As soon as you've eaten your breakfast, I'll show you."  
  
Boromir thanked him gratefully and ate another three or four toasts spread with honey, before he helped clear the table and then followed Mr. Foster to the little room. All the while, he spotted queer objects whose use he couldn't determine. He didn't ask about them, however, but decided to wait till Sandy was home. She'd tell him without questioning his sanity and without asking him why he didn't know. 


	16. Chapter 15 Of Taps And Tales

@lothlorien leaf: I don't seem to manage to make the chapters longer. In fact, this one's abominably short, but I really couldn't write more! Good your computer is okay again!! *smile*  
  
@all readers: Have a nice time reading and please write a review -or two- I greatly appreciate it!  
  
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Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Fifteen  
  
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"Has anyone spotted him yet?" Malcolm asked, as he stepped into the conference room. His face was drawn into a dark scowl and everyone around him hoped he wouldn't notice them. It was Reno, his second in command, who answered.  
  
"I bet they have, they just won't report to us. He's quite popular with the people here."  
  
"DAMN!" Malcolm brought his fist down onto the table so hard, everyone around him jumped at the noise. "If he's got our clients on his side, we have something to worry about!"  
  
"Why?" Asked Larry, a young man who was one of Reno's three assistants.  
  
"Why?" Malcolm laughed. "Reno! Hear that boy? Why he asks! Well, isn't that clear?" He turned on Larry. "Boy, why do we get money from our clients, why do they do what we want?"  
  
"Th.-they fear us."  
  
"Exactly!" Malcolm clapped for good measure. "Now, tell me, what will happen, if this Boromir can openly defy us without getting punished? Will they still fear us as they do now?"  
  
I.. I don't guess so."  
  
"You don't guess so." With quick steps, Malcolm crossed the room and then turned to face Larry and the others again. As he went on talking, his voice was dangerously quiet. "You guess right, Larry, you guess right. And if our clients stop fearing us, what will stop them from wondering if we might in the end have reason to fear THEM?"  
  
Everyone in the room was listening intently now. Malcolm was clever, why else had he managed to be their leader for so long and expand their territory? If Malcolm was worried, there was reason to be worried, and here he was, fretting about this man Boromir. Something bad was in the air. They realised, when he finished telling them his train of thought.  
  
"Give them too much space, too much confidence and too much hope, and our dear clients will turn against us, they'll organise themselves, plan to get rid of us. They outnumber us greatly and although we may have a few guns, we won't be able to hold them back once they start a mass-attack. We have to get rid of Boromir, before he can instil confidence, hope and courage in our clients. Understood?!"  
  
The men nodded and then went out of the room to redouble their efforts at finding Boromir. They'd use bribery, blackmail and even torture to find out where Boromir was. Malcolm wanted him, he'd get him.  
  
Then, only Malcolm and Reno were in the conference room. The latter gave Malcolm a pat on the shoulder. "We'll find him, don't worry. He's only human, after all."  
  
Malcolm just glared at the tabletop. "I'll stop worrying when he's under control."  
  
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Boromir was definitely not under control. Mr. Foster watched with a bemused smile, as his guest tackled first his kitchen, then the living room and hall with Sandy, pointing at the various objects standing there and asking Sandy about them. It was hard to say, if he was just acting dumb or actually was not accustomed to household gadgets.  
  
When he actually asked Sandy about the water tap with hot and cold water, Mr. Foster interfered. "But Mr. Steward, surely you know what a water tap is! Even in the woodland to the south of Bearon, every blockhouse has a tap."  
  
Boromir looked up quickly. "This tap provides both hot and cold water, it's not like that in the woods." He said carefully, hoping he was right.  
  
"Ah! So you lived in the woods before you came here?"  
  
Boromir could even nod to this without lying. He HAD lived in the woods before he came into this world. At once, Sandy jumped at the opportunity to ask him for another story. She was getting rather tired of explaining things, although it had been fun at first.  
  
"Did you see bears and wolves in the woods?" She asked excitedly, tugging at his sleeve for attention.  
  
"I saw a great many beasts and wonderful creatures in the woods." Boromir broke off, he knew he shouldn't have said that, not in front of Mr. Foster, anyway.  
  
"What kinds of creatures?" Sandy asked on, determined to get all information possible out of him before her father intervened. She had seen the sceptical look in his eyes and knew he didn't believe that Boromir had seen any 'wonderful creatures'.  
  
"Weeell," Borormir wasn't sure how far he should go. A quick look in Mr. Foster's direction told him not to go far at all. "I saw wolves, bigger than a calf, with great fangs, wild manes and paws bigger than my hands. Their bared teeth glistened white in the moonlit night and their sleek bodies were covered with silver fur. They had green eyes that shimmered brightly in the dark and there was a whole pack of them surrounding our company."  
  
"What did you do?" Questioned Sandy breathlessly.  
  
"There is one thing no wild creature dares approach, one thing they are afraid of, even the most powerful and grand. That is fire. We rekindled the glowing embers of our fire and each of us gripped our sword in our right hand and a burning stick in the left. With those we held them off till the next morning. They tried to get to us again and again, till dawn came. As the first ray of the sun groped its way over the horizon, they went. Silently and quickly like ghosts, the vanished in the trees. We never encountered them again."  
  
"Cool!" Sandy cried. "Weren't you frightened, just a little bit?"  
  
"I didn't dare to. They would have smelled it and gained confidence."  
  
"But how can you decide to not be afraid. Either you are or you aren't. Were you afraid?"  
  
"No. I had my sword, my companions and my skills."  
  
"Who were your companions?"  
  
Here Mr. Foster cut in. "Sandy. Time to go to bed."  
  
"I don't want to go to bed!" Sandy protested at once. "I want to know who was Mr. Steward!"  
  
"I daresay that can wait. You know what? I bet Mr. Steward will agree to tell you about his companions as soon as you've gone to bed. Then, when your nicely tucked in, he'll talk to you and describe his companions to you."  
  
He looked apologetically to Boromir and his gaze was soon joined by Sandy's pleading one. He nodded earnestly. "I'll tell you all about them as soon as you're in bed, young Lady."  
  
"Okay." Sandy relented and hurried off to bed. 


	17. Chapter 16 Knocking On Foster's Door

@technetium: Nice to hear from you again! Whew! You even took a look at my Mary Sue story. I still don't know if I'll go on writing it. But as you reviewed it, I might do so in the end- Cheerioh!  
  
@all readers: Chapter 16, of course. And, as always, reviews are GREATLY appreciated!!!!  
  
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Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Sixteen  
  
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Predictably, Sandy was delighted when Boromir told her what hobbits were like. Boromir could well see why they caught her fancy. Elves might be beautiful and wonderful creatures, dwarves might be very reliable and their gruffness a pleasant change from the polished manners of the Elves. Wizards might be fascinating and their power awesome, and men like Aragorn impressive and admirable, but the hobbits had, what a child would look for most in a fellow creature:  
  
they were cheerful beings with simple needs, small enough that a child might talk to them without looking upwards, friendly and fun-loving. Most importantly, they liked fireworks. When Boromir had dug that small detail out of his memory, Sandy had jumped up from her cushion and grinned.  
  
"I love fireworks, too! What sorts of fireworks did Gandalf show them then? Did they have the firework which looks like golden rain falling from the sky?"  
  
Boromir suppressed a broad grin and answered: "I wasn't there to see, yet I do not doubt there was one which resembled fiery rain, such as you describe. What I do know, however, is that there was one that took on the shape of the dragon Smaug. So Merry and Pippin told me."  
  
"Dragon Smaug!?" Sandy exclaimed. "What sort of a dragon is Smaug?"  
  
Boromir knew, however, that the story of Smaug would definitely take too long to tell, and Mr. Foster appeared in the doorframe just then. "I'll tell you another time, Young Lady." He promised Sandy, and told her goodnight. Then he let father and daughter to themselves.  
  
He heard the murmur of their voices in the small living room, where he occupied the couch. It was then, that a very strong bout of bad conscience struck him. What was he doing here? He was on the run from a ruthless band of men and what did he do? He sought shelter in the house of a family with a child no older than twelve.  
  
'They are in great danger as long as I am here." He thought. 'Sooner or later, someone will find out where I am, and I do not doubt that they will seek me out here, kill me and everyone of whom they think they helped me, child or no. I will extract from Mr. Foster whatever information I can get of this place tonight and leave as soon as he and Sandy are well asleep.'  
  
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Boromir stood in a flash and was about to draw his sword, when Mr. Foster rushed out of Sandy's room and, putting a finger on his lips, signalled him to be silent. A wave of his hand then told Boromir that he should follow, which he did. Mr. Foster led him into the guestroom.  
  
"Stay here and don't make a sound!" Mr. Foster ordered and left again to open his front door.  
  
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"Do you really think that this is the right thing to do?" Wirrel asked his colleague uncomfortably. "He might or might not be here, and in any case, we might put this Mr. Foster in trouble."  
  
"Aaw! Relax!" Grimes scoffed. He had been the one to come up with the (in Wirrell's mind hair brained ) idea, to look for Mr. Steward.  
  
The two policemen had gone to the hospital as soon as they were free from duty and had asked Dr. Cooper where he thought Boromir might be. The doctor had been reluctant to help, as revealing a patient's private data was illegal, but finally he'd decided to tell them about Boromir's meeting with the Fosters. Strictly speaking, that meeting had nothing to do with Boromir's personalia, so he could give up those facts.  
  
Grimes and Wirrell hadn't been in too great a hurry, so they'd first gone to some take-away for a meal, before driving into East Side with their hovercar. It had been easy to find Mr. Foster's address, and there they were now, waiting for the man to open.  
  
He was taking his damned time! Wirrell grumbled to himself, drawing his jacket round him in an attempt to keep himself warm despite the cool breeze that had come up this evening. At the corner of his eye, he thought he could see a shadow moving, but the moment passed all too quickly for him to be sure. Yet it was enough for him to feel uncomfortable. Were they being followed?  
  
There was no time to finish the thought, however, for now -finally- the door in front of them opened. a middle-aged man with dark hair stood in the doorway, looking at them curiously. The gaze he directed on them was slightly guarded, 'and no wonder,' Wirrell thought, 'anyone would be careful around strangers in this neighbourhood.'  
  
"Good evening, Sirs." Mr. Foster said very civilly. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"Allow me to introduce my friend and myself." Grimes, who always was the one to introduce the two of them in or outside duty, replied with just as much careful politeness. "This is George Wirrell and I'm Sean Grimes. We are friends of Boromir Steward."  
  
The man was good. He didn't bat an eyelash, nor did he make any other movement which might indicate that he knew more about Boromir than was healthy for him. "Mr. Steward? Yes, I remember him. He was at the hospital and told Sandy some very unlikely tales. We had a nice little chat, but I haven't heard of him since. Did he talk of me to you?"  
  
'Shoot,' Wirrell thought, 'the man's not good, he's damned good! His story has no holes, it doesn't deviate a iota from what Dr. Cooper told us. Nothing suspicious to dig into.' As always, Grimes opted for the direct and honest reply.  
  
"No, he didn't, we talked with Dr. Cooper, however. He said that you gave Mr. Steward your card. Is that so?"  
  
"It is."  
  
"And he hasn't called on you yet?"  
  
"No. Sandy is of course a little disappointed. She is so looking forward to hear more of his tales."  
  
"Well, if he does call on you, would you please ask him to give us a phone call? This is my card. We don't know what has happened to him and we're a bit worried, so we hope to hear of him soon."  
  
Mr. Foster took the card with a steady hand. "Should Mr. Steward turn up here, I will give him your card. Unfortunately, I can't guarantee you his coming."  
  
"Of course. Thank you for your help anyway, Mr. Foster. Have a nice evening!"  
  
Mr. Foster bade them goodnight, too, and then shut his door without hurry. As soon as he was out of the two policemen's sight, however, he sat down. In a rush all the adrenaline had left his system and now he was trembling frightfully. He hoped against hope, that his gamble had been successful. If not, his Sandy was in great danger.  
  
He let Grimes' card fall onto the little living room table and stared at it without taking in a word of what it said. Distantly, he heard a hovercar being started up, then there was silence. Sighing, he went to the door and locked it. No sooner had he turned the key, that there was another knock at the door.  
  
Mr. Foster's apprehension was even greater this time he unlocked the door. He had a feeling, that this visitor would be less harmless than the previous ones. 


	18. Chapter 17 Larry Makes His Move

Afterlife? -No! Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Seventeen  
  
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It had been a lucky coincidence. Larry had contacts in the police department of the East Side and he had decided to tap them on the subject of the man called 'Boromir'. At first, the police had shrugged and told him they had heard of no man with that name. Then, however, two officers had passed on their way to the cafeteria, not sparing him a glance. They were paid to not see any 'Gully Rats,' after all.  
  
One of them said: '.hasn't turned up yet.'  
  
'I'm not really surprised, you know.' The other answered, 'He has a sword. I bet he had something up his sleeve.'  
  
At once, Larry tugged one of the men he had been speaking with out of his chair and ordered him to question the two officers about the man with the sword.  
  
'I want to know his full name, where he was seen last, who saw him and when. D'you hear?' He hissed, shoving the man in the general direction of the cafeteria.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, he knew all about Boromir's stay at the hospital and who had met him there. Two policemen of the Southern District, a doctor called Cooper and, most importantly for Larry, two residents of the East Side, a guy called Jonathan Foster and his daughter. Wasting no more time, Larry left the police station and typed in Foster's name in the board computer of his hovercar and the search programm revealed the man's address only seconds later.  
  
Switching the hovercar into autopilot, he leant back in his seat and let the vehicle bring him to Mr. Foster's house. Using his wireless communication device, he called Peter and Conrad and ordered them to meet him just outside the house.  
  
The three of them met in a side street only a short distance away from Foster's house and Larry briefed his two companions quickly on what was going on. He might have done so via phone, but he preferred the whispering, it was less liable of being taped.  
  
They were just about to move in on Foster, when they noticed a police hovercar parking in front of the house and two policemen standing on the doorstep. One of the two was looking in their direction, just as Larry was about to step out of the shadows. At once, Larry froze; he hoped the man hadn't seen him. The man stared a moment longer, then he turned back round and Larry relaxed with a huge sigh of relief.  
  
Foster finally opened his door, but he didn't invite the Policemen in. The three men exchanged a few words, then one of the policemen handed Foster his card before the two left. Briskly, the two strode to their vehicle and flew off, so the 'Gully Rats' could at last approach Foster. 


	19. Chapter 18 High Stakes

Afterlife? -No! Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Eighteen  
  
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Taking a deep breath, Jonathan Foster reached for the key and turned in the lock of his front door. Making sure his face was set in a neutral expression first, he opened the door and looked the man standing outside straight in the eyes.  
  
'Good evening!' He greeted the three men, just as cordially as he'd greeted Grimes and Wirrell, 'What gives me the pleasure of your visit?'  
  
'Stop that simpering!' The black-haired, blue-eyed man in front grumbled, 'But all the same, good evening to you, too, Johnny Foster. How's that little daughter of yours?'  
  
Foster knew a 'Gully Rat' when he saw one, and he knew that taking offence about their tone was no good, and, after all, this one was being fairly civil.  
  
'She's quite well, thank you. Would you like to come in?' If he didn't invite those men inside, they'd get angry and suspicious, it was better to be friendly; they might even be persuaded to believe that he had nothing to hide.  
  
The three 'Gully Rats' stepped inside at once, the two large muscles taking the black-haired on between them for security, and sat around the little table in the sitting room as soon as the muscles had made sure there was no imminent threat inside the flat. Foster watched them with a fluttery stomach, as they opened the door to the kitchen, to Sandy's room and to the guestroom, but as Boromir had not switched on the light and was prudently hiding behind the door, they did not spot him.  
  
'Can I offer you something?' Foster asked the three politely.  
  
'A beer would be nice.' The spokesman answered, leaning back into his chair with a sigh. 'Make that three, don't let us hinder you from having something yourself.'  
  
Swiftly, Jonathan went inside the kitchen and took four cans of beer out of the fridge. Best take the same as the three visitors, they might appreciate it. When he returned into the sitting room, the spokesman of the three 'Gully Rats' was reading Grimes' card.  
  
'Who's the guy?' he asked Foster bluntly.  
  
'Someone from the police, as far as I know. He came here to ask questions about a guy I'd talked to during my stay at the hospital, said he wanted to know where the man was. I don't know how they came to think I might have something to tell them. I'd only spoken to that Steward-bloke for five minutes or so.' Foster told him, his air indignant. 'Then he gave me his card in case I saw Steward later on, so I could inform him. Just as if I had time to look for men the South District Police is searching for!'  
  
The 'Gully Rat' smiled appreciatively. 'I like your attitude, Johnny F., now, if you'd only make sure you tell US as soon as that Steward bloke looks in at your quaint little place here, you'll get full marks from me.'  
  
With that, he handed Foster his own card, on which stood nothing but a telephone number. Jonathan nodded at once. 'You can count on me.' He promised in his most sincere voice.  
  
'You'd better.' There was a menace in the black-haired man's voice which he had not revealed earlier. 'If for nothing else, then for your little girl.'  
  
Leaving the beer he'd opened without drinking a sip of it, standing on the little table, he nodded to his muscles and stood. 'See you another time, Johnny F.!' He said cheerfully, as he stepped through the front door that one of his men held open for him, while the other was already checking out the street.  
  
Jonathan Foster smiled weakly. 'It will be my pleasure.' He replied, not letting his mask slip for even the fraction of a second. 'Come again whenever you feel like it.'  
  
With a nonchalant wave of the hand, the man was gone, taking his guardians with him. Jonathan shut and locked the door behind them, shaking even more than he'd done after the visit of the two policemen. What had he gotten himself into?! And why hadn't he thought of poor Sandy earlier? She was in great danger! But after he'd told Mr. Steward he'd help him, he couldn't just surrender him to the police or even the 'Gully Rats'.  
  
Ruffling his hair with his two hands, he paced around his little room. Now, how did he get out of this mess best, without getting Sandy harmed, endangering himself, and dooming Steward? 


	20. Chapter 19 Making Plans

Thanks for the reviews!  
  
Have a nice time watching the Return of the King, Mints for the Movie! You're so lucky! I haven't seen the movie yet.  
  
And yep, I'll keep going, Oracle!  
  
@songofthewind: I know what you mean about being healed completely. Let's just assume that he was in hospital long enough to heal perfectly. *winks*  
  
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Afterlife? -No! Aftershock!  
  
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Chapter Nineteen  
  
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Boromir hid behind the door of the little room Mr. Foster had shoved him into and listened intently as his host talked to the 'Gully Rats'. He didn't miss the scarcely veiled threat Larry voiced concerning Sandy's well- being and clenched his teeth angrily. A person could sink no longer than to threaten a man's child as a means to make him cooperate. He listened as Mr. Foster complimented the 'Gully Rats' outside and then waited a while, guessing that the man needed to compose himself after the encounter.  
  
He heard Mr. Foster go into his room and shut the door and then the muffled sound of steps going on and on and on. Foster seemed to be pacing around in his rooms, and there was no doubt on what his thoughts dwelled as he was doing this.  
  
Boromir sighed. It had been too good to be true. And foolish. It had been foolish to seek shelter here, by the only people he knew here. The track that led here was straightforward and much too easy to follow, he couldn't have made it easier for his hunters to track him down. Both the policemen and the 'Gully Rats' had ended up at Foster's doorstep within less than a day, and it would not take long till one of the parties somehow found out that he was indeed lodging here.  
  
Ad as soon as they found him, Sandy and her father were in serious trouble. There was only one thing he could do: Leave. Leave at once.  
  
It was not in his nature to sneak away without even thanking the person who had taken him in and without saying farewell. So he did not pass by Foster's room, but entered after knocking. Mr. Foster looked up, his features slightly puzzled at Boromir's sudden entrance.  
  
'Mr. Steward! I thought you were already asleep.' He said.  
  
'Had I had the urge to sleep, I could not have rested peacefully, knowing what danger I have put you and your daughter in.' Boromir replied earnestly. 'I overheard what you discussed with the 'Gully Rat' in your sitting room, and it was only then that I realised how much I jeopardised you with my rashness. I cannot endanger you any further, Mr. Foster, and will not stay here a moment longer, so that you may continue to live in peace.'  
  
His speech was interrupted by Mr. Foster. 'Wait a moment! You can't leave! Do you realise that our house is being watched since those men left it? That is the way of the 'Gully Rats,' once you are under suspicion, how slight it may be, you are watched. If you leave, if they see even the tip of one of your toes appear on my doorstep, we're in big BAD trouble. I won't allow you to even look out of one of my windows, do you understand?!'  
  
Boromir heard the urgency in Foster's voice and did not argue. After all, the man knew the ways of this world better than he did, and judging from his performances earlier that evening, he managed the survive here well. It had been foolish to come into Mr. Foster's house. It would be even more foolish to leave again if it was watched. Frowning, Boromir leant against the doorframe.  
  
'It is lucky then, that you have drawn your curtains, or the watchers would have seen me already. What do you propose to do?'  
  
Foster sighed heavily and sat onto his bed. 'First: What are we up against? The 'Gully Rats' who are out to get you. Secondly, what are our weaknesses: Sandy, for she is very vulnerable and would not be able to defend herself if they got her. Numbers. There are scores of 'Gully Rats', whilst we are only two. Weapons. You have your sword, I have my rifle, they have so much more weapons.  
  
Thirdly, our strengths: You are damned good with that sword of yours, Mr. Steward, which will diminish the 'Gully Rats'' advantage of numbers somewhat. Plus, we are a step ahead of them, they don't KNOW you are here, and as long as they don't, we are relatively safe. Maybe I can even get some of the people of this block to help me, but that's a risky business, I don't know if I want to try that, yet, someone might betray us, you know?'  
  
Boromir listened closely. Mr. Foster was doing the same thing he had done only a day ago, when he'd left the hospital and was walking along the streets of Bearon. He was assessing his situation as accurately as possible, seeing where his strengths and weaknesses were, so as to form a basis for further plans.  
  
'Could you get some more weapons?' He asked, as soon as Mr. Foster had ended his list.  
  
The look on the other man's face was thoughtful. 'I might. What sort of weapons would you prefer?'  
  
'Longbows, crossbows, daggers, maybe one or two throwing knives, an axe,-' Boromir stopped when he saw the queer look on Mr. Foster's face. 'You seem amazed.'  
  
'I am.' Mr. Foster muttered, shaking his head in a slightly helpless gesture, 'I'll see what I can do about those weapons, but I can't promise you anything.'  
  
Boromir nodded, he had noted the lack of armed men in the streets yesterday, so it was no surprise to him that weapons weren't easy to come by. Then he had an idea. 'Do you know where the 'Gully Rats' are quartered?' He asked.  
  
At the word 'quartered,' Mr. Foster's brow furrowed, but the answer came at once. 'Yes. I can show you on my town map.'  
  
He pulled out the map from one of the drawers of his desk, and spread it over the bed. Together they poured over it, Foster explaining to Boromir where his house and the headquarters of the 'Gully Rats' were situated. Slowly, a plan began to form in Boromir's mind. Attack was the best defence, and Boromir began to see how he could attack the 'Gully Rats' and at the same time draw their attention away from Mr Foster and Sandy. 


	21. Chapter 20 Preparations

I'm so very sorry for letting you all wait so long for the continuation of the story! I don't even have a real excuse.

Cindy: Thanks for taking me to task and urging me on! And I bow before your patience!

**Afterlife? –No! Aftershock!**

**Chapter twenty: Preparations**

After hearing what Mr Foster and the policemen had talked about, Boromir had nearly perfected his plan. What they needed now, was a weapon for Mr. Foster. When he'd told his host as much, the man grinned and pulled open the drawer in his nighttable. He took out an L-shaped, black and very shiny object.

‚I have my weapon.'

The was blunt and didn't have a drawstring either, which meant you could neither cut nor shoot arrows with it. But Boromir wasn't going to doubt Mr. Foster's sanity just yet. At least not till the man had had a chance to tell him how the device worked.

‚I haven't seen a weapon such as this before. How does it work?'

It was Mr. Foster's turn to stare. ‚Haven't you ever seen a gun before! Everyone knows how these things work!' Boromir simply waited, and Mr. Foster sighed. ‚Oh well, this is how it works: See these little pieces of metal? They're the projectiles. The bullets. Ar the rear end of each bullet there's a small amount of explosive material. So when I put them in the magazine and pull the trigger, making the hammer hit the back of the bullet, BANG! this material explodes and the force of that explosion sends the bullet flying out of the barrel. It's very effective.'

Boromir was very intrigued. He would very much have liked to try this weapon out, but when Mr. Foster told him that the explosion was very loud and would attract attention, he refrained. Reluctantly.

‚Do a lot of people here carry a weapon like this?' He then asked. He'd thought that noone here carried a weapon, but the gun was small, and so he began to suspect that many of the people who had seemed unarmed to him had actually carried one on them.

‚Not that many. But I daresay there are a lot of people who have one hidden in their house somewhere. Especially people in this neighbourhood.'

‚If you have the weapons, why doesn' anyone use them against the Gully Rats?'

‚Well, we may have the weapons, but not all of us really have the skill to use them. And we aren't organised. We have no strategy but that of survival and no tactic but that of keeping inconspicuous. Though now the latter is impossible for me now and I suspect I'll have to think of another soon.'

‚There is no need of that, I have already planned the next move. I assure you that it will work. Do you have a means of transportation?'

‚I've got my hovercar.'

‚Where is it?'

‚In the garage.' Mr. Foster received a puzzled look and explained. He was getting used to Stewart not knowing about the most commonplace things, but he also began to wonder if this guest of his was just a bit insane. Really: Swordfighting? Not knowing about guns and garages? Something was rather off, here. And yet he found he trusted this man. Trusted in his plan and his ability to somehow get rid of the Gully Rats. ‚The garage is a shed. I can access it through a sidedoor to this building.'

‚So it would be possible to get into your vehicle unseen? Is there space enough to hide a person inside?'

‚Yes.'

Boromir smiled grimly. Things were looking better and better. He might actually pull this off.


End file.
